


Your Friendly Neighborhood Bookstore

by richmahogany



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 01:12:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1838953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/richmahogany/pseuds/richmahogany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This time, they are too late to prevent a violent crime from happening. In his distress, Finch seeks refuge in a bookstore, where he has an unexpected encounter. Sequel to Down at the Cubicle Farm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Friendly Neighborhood Bookstore

**Author's Note:**

> I know I said I couldn't think of a sequel. Three days later I had the first idea... For everyone who liked the first story, and especially for those who asked for more.

“Too late,” was all Finch could think. “Too late. We were too late.” The thought was going round and round in his head, like a bird trying to escape a too-small cage. He rested his forehead against his hands which were gripping the steering wheel.

It should have been a straightforward intervention. The investigation into their latest number had revealed one of the oldest stories in the world: a young man plotting to kill an older relative for the inheritance. Casey Esposito knew he was his aunt’s sole heir – she doted on him and had told him so repeatedly. In theory all he had to do was to wait for her to die, and her apartment and a largish sum of money would come to him. But another old story came into play: Esposito had large gambling debts and needed the money now. His aunt was not that old and in good health, so he planned to stage a burglary in which unfortunately she would lose her life. To prevent this from happening, Reese was waiting near the aunt’s apartment to intercept Esposito. Finch was stationed in front of the young man’s place of work. All employees were logged electronically when they entered or left the building, and Finch had simply hacked into the system and could now monitor himself who went in or out. He had seen Esposito log in at the beginning of his shift. All he had to do now was to wait for him to log out again and alert Reese that their perpetrator was on his way. But this is where he made a mistake. He relied on the logging system to tell him their suspect’s whereabouts, so it didn’t occur to him to track Esposito’s cellphone as well. When he finally did check it, he realized with horror that Esposito had somehow left the building without logging out and was already at his aunt’s apartment. He called Reese immediately.

“He’s there! Esposito’s there, he’s going into the apartment now! You have to stop him!”

He could hear Reese curse under his breath. A car door banged, and Reese was running towards the apartment. There was a shot, the sound of splintering wood, and then a scuffle. Finch didn’t know what was happening, and he hated it.

“Mr Reese?” he asked. “Mr Reese, are you alright? What’s going on?”

There was the sound of footsteps, and then: “We’re too late. I’m sorry, Finch.”

The two fatal words: too late. Finch closed his eyes. He listened to Reese make a 911 call, then leave the apartment and return to his car. Then Reese’s voice came through his earpiece again:

“Finch, where are you? Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes, I’m alright.” His trembling voice gave the lie to his words.

“Where are you? I’ll meet you there.”

Finch took a deep breath to dispel the shakiness from his voice. “No, no, I think…I need to be alone for a while. I think I’ll go for a walk.”

There was a brief silence at the other end of the line. Clearly Reese wasn’t happy to leave Finch alone at a time like this, but he couldn’t very well force his company on his partner when it wasn’t wanted.

“Alright,” he said eventually. “Are you coming to the library later?”

“Maybe. I’ll let you know.”

Finch ended the call and switched off his cell. He sat motionless and took a few more deep breaths. Bear was stirring on the back seat, trying to get close to him and whining. Finally Finch moved again. He wound his scarf tighter around his neck, buttoned his coat and got out of the car. With Bear on his leash he started to walk around the block. He turned one corner, then another. The streets were busier here, thronged with people hurrying along and going in and out of stores. Finch could feel himself getting more agitated again. He flinched as someone bumped into him and hurried on without an apology. There were definitely too many people here. Finch didn’t like crowds at the best of times, and now he could feel his chest tightening, his breathing getting shallower. No, this wouldn’t do. He had to calm down. He stood against a wall for a moment and concentrated on his breathing. After a few minutes he felt a bit better, but he still needed to get away from the crowd. He turned around and noticed that he had been leaning against a bookstore. Keeping Bear close to his side, he entered.

Books. They had been his saviors, his refuge ever since he was a child. They provided consolation when he was upset. They kept him company when he was alone. Books had always been his friends. It wasn’t just that the stories offered an escape, it was the physical presence of books that comforted him. The rows of spines on the shelves, the feel of a book in his hands, the rustle of the paper, even the smell. Whether it was in his house or at a library, when he stood in front of a bookshelf he felt at home.

Finch looked around. He realized that he had been here before, but probably not for years. The store was not very large, and most of the space was filled with shelves or small tables piled with books. There were a couple of armchairs, both occupied by readers, and in one corner were child-sized table and chairs. Finch moved slowly around the store, taking in the atmosphere. The shelving was a jumble of mis-matched bookcases, but most of them beautifully made. The space was lit by hanging lamps which reminded him of his own library. It was warm and quiet. There were a few people in the store, but they were either reading or looking around by themselves. Only a teenage couple standing by a table of comic books was engaged in a whispered discussion.

Bear suddenly tensed, ears and tail twitching. A cat was coming towards them. The two animals sniffed each other cautiously, then the cat arched its back and stalked away again. Finch was relieved that Bear was not in the habit of chasing cats. He knew that he probably shouldn’t have brought the dog inside with him.

Suddenly a voice behind him said: “Are you finding what you are looking for?” Finch turned around and saw a young woman, wearing a long flowing skirt and with her hair in a mass of tiny braids. For a moment they were looking at each other, then the young woman’s eyes grew wide and she said: “Harold?”

Finch was at a loss for a moment. The young woman looked familiar, but where had he…Then he remembered.

“Amelia,” he said warmly, shaking the hand she was holding out to him. Amelia laughed with pleasure. “Oh, I was so hoping I’d see you again one day! I wanted to say thank you!”

“For what?” asked Harold.

“For all this!” She waved her arms. “You gave me the address, remember? You told me about the job here. And here I am!”

“You have found your place, then,” said Harold. “I take it that it really was what you wanted. You look happy.”

“I am happy,” replied Amelia. Then she looked at Bear. “What a beautiful dog! Is he a service dog?”

“Not officially,” Harold confessed, “but I like to have him with me. And usually people are reluctant to tell a man with a handicap that he shouldn’t have brought his dog with him. I can leave him outside, of course…”

“Oh no, as long as he doesn’t chase the cats, that’s fine.”

“We’ve already met one cat,” said Harold. “Are there more?”

“There are two, but one is very old and fat and doesn’t move around much.”

She slowly stretched her hands out towards Bear. The dog sniffed them, then licked her fingers. Amelia laughed again. Then she looked back to Harold and asked:

“Would you like to come to the office for a cup of tea? I’m so happy to see you again, and I’d like to talk to you at least for a little while.”

The thought flitted through Harold’s mind that he should know better than to accept drinks from strange young women. But Amelia wasn’t a stranger. They had worked together for weeks. They had almost been friends, so he didn’t hesitate long before he answered: “Yes, I’d like that.”

“Follow me then. It’s in the basement.”

Amelia led the way to a door at the back of the store, which opened on a staircase. She quickly glanced back to see how Harold was getting on with the steps – they were steep and narrow – then she went ahead along a short, dim corridor. She pointed at a door in passing. “That’s our workshop, we do book repairs in there. It’s not a proper bindery, but we do minor repairs ourselves. Mr Goldfarb is teaching me.” Then she opened another door to a cramped office. Most of the space was taken up with a desk and two chairs, a couple of filing cabinets and a small closet. There were also a sink and a kitchen cupboard.

“Sit down”, Amelia said, offering him one of the chairs, “take your coat off.” She turned round and rummaged in the cupboard.

“Actually, my offer of tea was slightly misleading. I know you prefer tea, but all we have is this.” She waved an opened box of teabags at Harold. “I think this has been here as long as I have. This baby on the other hand,” she pointed towards an espresso machine which was perched next to the sink, “makes excellent coffee. So, it’s your choice – crap tea or good coffee!”

“Well,” said Harold, “you are right, I prefer tea. On the other hand I believe that one should always choose quality over crap. So I think in this case I will join you in some coffee.”

When they each had a steaming cup in front of them, they sat silently for a moment. Amelia still had a happy smile on her face. Harold smiled back at her.

“So, is this place really what you had hoped for?”

Amelia shook her head. “It’s more than that. It’s even better that I imagined. Mr and Mrs Goldfarb are teaching me everything they know. It’s like an apprenticeship, really – they are systematically training me to run a bookstore. They’ve started to scale back their own involvement now, because I’m ready to take more responsibility. They don’t just tell me what to do, they also give me space to develop my own ideas. And they are such lovely people. I still can’t believe my luck sometimes.”

She sat back, looking at Harold.

“But what about you?” she asked.

Harold raised his eyebrows in question.

“When you left, I was really hoping that you had found something better as well,” Amelia went on. “I always thought that you weren’t very happy at IFT, so I hoped you’d left for something more fulfilling, something really worthwhile – more worthwhile than coding databases anyhow.”

“Oh,” said Harold. “Well…yes, I think I have. You could say that.” He didn’t say any more.

Amelia was silent for a moment, drank her coffee and looked at him thoughtfully.

Then she said: “Something’s bothering you, though, isn’t it? No,” – she held up her hand when she saw him almost physically draw back – “I don’t want to know any details. I remember well that you always were a very private person. Just listen to me for a moment. It’s like this: I’ve always had this idea that books can really help you. I don’t mean self-help books. What I mean is, when you have the right book at the right time, it’s more than just entertainment, it can actually do you good. It’s like book therapy, almost. It’s not like real therapy of course – if you’ve got some life-changing problems, it’s not going to solve them. But if you just need cheering up, or if you need a holiday from the real world, I can find something for you. I really want to find the right book for you, Harold – please.”

Harold didn’t say anything for a while. He looked at his hands, flat on the table, and tried to organize his thoughts. His paranoid side was in a state of high tension, worried that Amelia was asking him questions, trying to find out things about him. He couldn’t allow that. His rational side, though, told him that all she wanted was to do him a favor. She herself had said that she didn’t want to know any details. He hadn’t told her anything about what he was doing, and she hadn’t asked. All she wanted was to do something for him, because she was grateful for what he had done for her. She deserved an answer.

“What I’m doing,” he finally said, “is certainly worthwhile. But there are setbacks, sometimes – things don’t always go to plan. It’s the same as with every endeavor, things can go wrong. That is probably unavoidable, it’s in the nature of things. But knowing that doesn’t make it any easier when it happens. So, to answer your question,” – he looked up at her with a small smile – “yes, I think I might need cheering up a bit.”

She smiled back, and sat for a while, thinking. Then she got up and said: “I think I have something for you. Wait here.”

She was only gone for a few minutes, and when she came back she handed him something neatly wrapped in blue paper.

“That’s my prescription for you,” she said, “don’t open it until you get home.”

“Thank you,” he said, “thank you so much.” He felt absurdly pleased: he didn’t receive presents very often.

They had drunk their coffee, and Amelia had to get back to work. She walked Harold and Bear back to the entrance, where they shook hands once more and said goodbye. On an impulse, Harold took her hand in both of his and said: “I’m glad to see you so happy. You deserve it.”

For a moment she was more serious than she had been all afternoon. She gave him a look full of compassion and exclaimed: “Oh Harold, you deserve to be happy too!”

He could have made some glib, conventional remark, pretended that he really was happy most of the time and so silenced her concern. But he decided to give her a more truthful answer.

“There are good things in my life, and good people,” he told her, “more than I could have hoped for. And I’m grateful for that.”

Amelia smiled again. “That’s good to hear. And if you need a good book as well, you know where to come!”

She held her hands out to Bear, and when he came towards her she gave him a quick rub behind the ears. Then she waved at them and went back into the store.

***

Harold arrived at the apartment and opened the door. The air inside was stale, but the place was neat and tidy. This was one of his smaller properties, cheaply furnished but comfortable. Harold released Bear from his leash, and the dog immediately inspected all the rooms, sniffing every corner, before settling down next to the couch. Harold hung up his coat and scarf, then he went into the kitchen to see if there was any food. He hoped he wouldn’t have to go out again to get something to eat. There were a few cans in the cupboard, eggs in the fridge and sliced bread in the freezer. That would do, he wasn’t very hungry anyway. He took the bread out to defrost and went to have a shower.

He stood in the cubicle for almost ten minutes, enjoying the sensation of hot water pelting his skin. His mind was pleasantly empty, and for a while he didn’t think of anything in particular. He felt more relaxed than he had all day. He turned the water off before he could become too sleepy, dried himself off, exchanged his shirt for a fresh one and put the rest of his clothes back on. He still didn’t feel hungry, so he returned to the living room and sat on the couch. Amelia’s present was lying on the table. He took it in his hands. It had been very nice to see her, he thought. She was clearly making her way in the world. He hadn’t thought about her very often since he had left the programming job, although he had known that she had taken up the job at the bookstore towards which he had steered her. She was obviously the right person in the right place, and it was quite gratifying that his little scheme had come off so successfully. He suddenly realized with some amusement that she hadn’t told him whether she had yet read the book he gave her. And now she had given him a book in return. At least that’s what the package felt like. Harold removed the paper and saw that it was indeed a book. He smiled when he saw the title: “Through the Looking-Glass”. He had read it, of course, more than once. In fact, he owned a first edition of it. There was a letter with it. He unfolded it and read:

“Dear Harold,

It was so good to see you today, so I could finally say thank you for what you have done for me. I hope I can now do a little thing for you.

My book therapy can’t solve any big problems, but I think what you need is to forget about the world for a while and go to a place that is completely different. So, here is my prescription for you:

1\. have a nice, long, hot bath

2\. make a large pot of tea

3\. make yourself comfortable on the couch or even in bed

4\. begin your journey and escape

Good luck!

Your friend Amelia”

Harold smiled at her suggestions. He would skip the first step, he thought. He had already had a shower, and the apartment wasn’t equipped with a tub anyway. The pot of tea, however, was an excellent idea. Before he went into the kitchen, he sent a text message to Reese to tell him that he wouldn’t come into the library now.

When he returned with the teapot, cup and saucer, his cellphone beeped with a return message: “See you tomorrow. Good night Harold”

He smiled. When he had told Amelia that there were good people in his life, it was Reese he was thinking of. Today had been a difficult day, but it wasn’t like it had been two years ago, when he had to deal with all the setbacks and failures by himself. True, he hadn’t even wanted to talk to John earlier today, but it was good to know that there was someone out there who could be relied on and who understood. Tomorrow they would work together again, and things would be better.

Harold took the book in his hands again. It was an excellent choice. If there was any book to take him out of reality into a completely different world, this surely was it. And anyway, a book that started with a chess problem was always going to be his kind of book. He wondered how Amelia could have known. But when he thought about it, she had always shown a lot of understanding in any interaction with him. He was suddenly glad to know her. He would have to go and visit her again sometime. But for now he would try out her prescription. Harold pushed the cushion at his back into a more comfortable position, took a sip of tea and prepared to step through the looking-glass once more.


End file.
